


Alleyways

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Sadstuck, Trans Character, Transphobia, ftm jake, i guess, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name's Jake English, and you need to call your boyfriend for help. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Alleyways

Everything hurts. It's all throbbing around you. Stomach skin stinging, the area between your legs... painful. You think you might throw up. And you do, hunching over and expelling your insides in a corner of this alleyway. You can feel the disgusting appendages hanging from your chest. You grapple for your shirt, knowing the binders a lost cause. That thought makes you want to puke more. You succeed in holding it back this time. Boxers and shorts are next, shakily pulled up as you realize there's a crack in one lens of your glasses. Even better. 

Your name's Jake English, and you need to call your boyfriend for help. 

It takes three tries for you to successfully click Dirk's number. What seems like forever passes until he finally picks up.

"Hey Jake. Can I call you back in a few minutes? Middle of a programming session for Hal."

"N...o." You sound high pitched, needy, desperate. It's all you can do to keep your voice from cracking.

"Jake?"

"Help.." It's weak, almost inaudible. You know he hears it. A few keyboard taps and then he's talking again.

"I got your phone signal tracked and I'm on my way, okay? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Don't call Grandma," is all you can manage out before you break down sobbing. Dirk's talking, but you can't hear him over the ugly noises emitting from your mouth. Pathetic. That's the word that comes to mind when you think about right now. Cuts on your stomach, bruises on your face. The acute awareness of the lack of something between your legs, a feeling you can usually block out.

Dirk sprints around the corner, not slowing down until he's right in front of you. You know he can see your lack of binder, the blood seeping through your shirt, the way you're holding yourself, hunched over, trying to meld into the bricks. He bends onto his knees in front of you, reaching gingerly to touch the bruise forming on your cheek.

"Jake..."

You haven't stopped sobbing. Now you've brought your hands around your stomach, gasping slightly at the pain of pressing the cuts. He pulls your arms away, slow movements, making sure you're alright. He starts to lift up the shirt to check on you and your stomach spasms. You push yourself away from him, wide eyed and terrified. He stops, putting his hands up by his head, making sure you see where they're at.

"It's just me, English. It's Dirk, alright?"

There's an undertone of anger, of rage in his voice but it isn't directed towards you. Hands reach for his shirt and you yank him forward, forcing him into a hug. His arms meld around you, and then you've been picked up.

"Do you want to go to my apartment or your house?"

It's choked, and you resent the squeakiness of your reply. "Apartment."

You feel a nod, and then he starts walking. You hide your face, wishing you didn't exist right now. It doesn't take long to reach the building, you were on your way to surprise him before you became... otherwise occupied. The lobby's cleared, thankfully. So is the elevator. You're almost falling asleep, the lulling of his footsteps, rocking you gently. It all feels good. But there's underlying fear, a panic you're trying to hold back. You try to focus on the breath filling Dirk's chest. 

The thought suddenly fills your brain that his Bro will be there. While he knows about you, him seeing you like this terrifies you. Even having Dirk see you now scares you to death, but there was no other option. As you reach the door to his apartment, you breathing gets choppy. Dirk stops, pulls you back a bit, and gives you what you're assuming is a reassuring look.

"It's alright. I don't think Bro's home. If he is, he won't freak. Well, he might go kill someone for you, but other than that you're good. He'll fret a bunch too, but really that's just to make sure you're okay."

"...Alright."

He opens the door and sets you down. You stand awkwardly, unsure of whether to cover your stomach or your chest, so you settle for an uncomfortable mix of both. He leads you into the bathroom, stopping for an ice pack on the way there. You hold it tightly against your cheek, eyes locked on the floor. 

You sit on the edge of the bathtub, still unsure of what to do with yourself. Dirk pulls out a first aid kit, and you look anywhere but him.

"Jake, man, I gotta see what's up with your torso. I'll fold the shirt up. Only your stomach's gonna be showing. Not your chest, yeah?"

You nod, clutching the ice pack harder. He sits in front of you, gingerly pulling up the bottom of your shirt. Eyes snap shut as you try to control your fight or flight reflex. True to his word, the bottom half's folded over the top, hiding your chest further. You slowly open your eyes, looking down at Dirk. There's a horrified face he's doing a bad job of controlling as he stares at the word carved into your skin.

GIRL

Tears prick the edges of your eyes as you stare at the ceiling. There's a rummaging sound and then something cool and gel like is being put on the cuts. It stings a little, but it feels better that your shirt rubbing against them. Next is cloth. Bandages. It's not too tight, not too loose. You know Dirk's had practice wrapping injuries before, but he's just plain perfect at it. You wince as he ties it off with a bit of a jerk. The shirt's pulled back down and you're pulled into a hug. The shuddery breaths that come with crying start and you try so hard to hold them back.

"G-good gracious Strider. Sorry for making you postpone your p-programming session."

"Don't. You're more important. Please Jake just-fuck are you alright?"

A pause. You so badly want to say yes. To reassure him that you've not been affected by what's happened at all. But you can't. You can't lie. He won't believe you anyway.

"No," you finally say, voice steady enough for your liking. He un-hugs you, and his face is murderous. 

"What happened." You shake your head, close your eyes, lock your mouth. "Please."

He sounds so desperate, so angry. You comply unwillingly, unable to say no to his tone of voice.

 

\---

 

It's a nice Saturday out, and neither you nor Dirk have anything to do, so you figure you'll surprise him! After all, that's what best friend boyfriends do, right? He doesn't live too terrible far away, just about a half hour, so walking is the reasonable choice.

You're about ten minutes away when you pass a boy from your school. Mathew. Even though neither of you enjoy each other's company much, you give him a friendly wave. He stops walking.

"Sup Rebecca." You sigh loudly. This again.

"Like I stated last time, Mathew. I'd much prefer you call me Jake."

"Why? You're a girl, aren't you?"

You don't have time for this.

"No," you say, turning and walking away. "I'm not."

All of a sudden there's a hand on your shirt and you're dragged back into a nearby alley.

"Don't walk away from me, bitch."

He really does try to be intimidating, but it just isn't working out. You remove his hand as politely as you can manage.

"Mathew, any other time, I'd love to engage you in fisticuffs, but I've got somewhere to be, so I'm going to have to decline your unspoken offer."

He shoves you up against the bricks as you're walking away. The brick's a little rough on your back, but it's nothing bad. You've gotten the slightest bit nervous, but Mathew's Mathew. He's much more bark than bite. 

"Truly mate, I've got a boyfriend to meet, so I've got to ask you to kindly fuck off." You shove him off of you, but he shoves you right back, harder this time. It hurts.

"I said, don't walk away from me."

You roll your eyes a little, trying not to let the fear show through your face.

"Golly Mat, it seems you can't take a hint. I'm. Not. Interested."

Mathew punches you square in the jaw. To be fair to him, it's not a bad punch. It hurts a hell of a lot more than you expected it to. You raise a hand to it, adjusting your jaw a bit. Nothing feels broken, so that's good. You grimace, because that bruise is going to be there a while. It turns into a little bit of a sneer as you look back up at him.

"While you've made a valiant effort, Matty my friend, I still have to say no. Your punch was good. Very solid. You could use a little more feeling behind it, but other than that-"

"Shut the hell up, cunt." He cuts you off with another punch, this time to your cheek. You hear a loud crack and hope to god it wasn't your cheek bone. The punch doesn't hurt enough for that, though. You hope it was his hand. Your own clutches the side of your face as you grunt slightly from the throb under the skin of your face.

"Your insults-ahg-are truly admirable."

This earns you another shove into the wall, this time on your chest. His hands stay pressed against you, and you gulp a bit.

"Damn Becca. You full on squished 'em down. Shame. You have nice tits."

Anger crawls up your throat. "My name," you pull your arm back as best you can,"is Jake!" and punch him. It's an uppercut to the stomach that has him hunching over, groaning as you move away from him quickly.

Not quick enough, evidently. Within seconds, he has you back on the bricks, wrists pinned under his hands. You don't bother trying to cover up your fear. It's written plain across your face.

"Girls aren't supposed to fight back, fucking bitch." You aim a knee towards his crotch, but he moves out of the way.

"Maybe I'm not a fucking girl!" He laughs. It terrifies you.

"Yeah but you got tits. Bet they're nice. I could just find out, you know." He switches to restraining you with one hand as the other starts pulling up your shirt. Oh god he's serious oh god oh fuck oh no. You struggle against his hand, but he's got a surprising grip for such a douche bag. You start shouting, but one of his hand slaps over your mouth. The other hand lets go of your wrists as he digs in his pocket for something. You try to run, but he pulls something out that makes your eyes go wide and you body freeze. A knife. He's got a damn knife.

"Don't even try screaming, Beccie. I've got a knife and you've got what? Fists? Yeah that won't end well."

You must look terrified, you certainly feel like it. He starts pulling up your shirt again and you start struggling, but he waves the knife at you and you stop, lifting your arms up. He takes it off of you full and smiles.

"Not too hard, was it?" You give him a nasty look.

He starts pulling at your binder, and you start to panic. Dirk's the only one who's seen you with it off, and even then you were scared. Mathew seems to be having trouble getting it off though. You grin inwardly. Binder one, Mathew zero. After about twenty seconds he just fits the knife under the fabric. Your inward grin goes away, terrified feeling back in place as you hear the slicing of fabric. You close your eyes, trying to block out everything. It doesn't work when the mangled fabric is pulled off your shoulders.

"Fuck. I knew they were nice but not like this." His hands are on your chest his hands are on your chest his hands are on your chest. You try wiggling away, but he squeezes you and you let out a pained sound.

"Feeling like a girl yet, Rebecca?" You shake your head no. He may have you topless, and he's maybe making your dysphoria climb to a whole new level of bad, but you will be damned if you ever give in to this guy.

"Well that's just sad. I thought we could just stop here and you'd quit your game, but it looks like I thought wrong."

His hands drop to your shorts button. You start screaming. He hits you in the cheek again. A punch on a bruise and ow that hurt.

"Don't fucking scream." You nod, eyes tearing up as he presses the knife against your stomach, not hurting you, yet. He yanks the shorts and boxers down your legs and they pool at your ankles. You're shaking. Terrified. It's humiliating. His fingers press against you, and you bite back a shout. Your eyes squeeze shut again as he presses them in and oh my fucking god you can feel them this is horrible you aren't used to this and it hurts.

You want to puke.

"Girl yet?" You're saved from answering by his phone ringing. He looks at the text, fingers still inside you, and he moves them. You shiver in pain and disgust. Then they're pulled out and you realize just how hard you're shaking.

"Looks like I got somewhere to be. But since I didn't get to show you how much of a girl you actually are, I'll leave you a souvenir to remember." You feel the knife press into you skin and your screams are covered by his hand. When he leaves, he turn and grins.

"Bye Rebecca." He emphasizes every syllable. You look down at the bleeding cuts in your stomach. It's a word. You feel nauseous as you curl up on yourself.

 

\---

 

Dirk has murder in his features. You're still sobbing from when you started in the middle of telling him. The hug you get is sudden, and you flinch back before you remember it's Dirk. You breathe in what he smells like, and it calms you down, slows your crying. He cards his fingers through your hair, and you relax a little more.

"I'll kill him."

You hum in agreement because that's all you can do right now. Talking sounds exhausting. Not like you aren't exhausted already. He picks you up slowly, not startling you. You close your eyes and listen to his breathing again, swaying with his footsteps. Your legs are around his waist and you're all slumped over his head and shoulders. He hits some button on a stereo and music starts playing. It's slow and soft and he starts swaying a bit more as he starts dancing. It fits with the song, slow and soft. You kiss the top of his forehead, humming the song along with the track. You feel a smile until he focuses back on the dancing he's doing. No one else would classify it as dancing, but you know this is how he moves with music. 

So you block out the rest of your day, focusing on the melody, the sway, the boy you love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry  
> I had the idea for like 3 months  
> and I had to write it eventually  
> oh well  
> I accidentally became ebony darkness dementia ravenway at one point. a z intead of s on tears.


End file.
